Chapter Three

The science teacher leaned on the third baseline fence next to Jonathan as the younger man mused over the reasoning behind some of the drills Jake was running to evaluate the kids at tryouts. About four had dropped out from yesterday to today, fewer than expected, according to the freshman coach.

On the field, Jake was a force. Even Troy the pretty boy was eclipsed by the sheer power of Jake’s personality, and Brandon could readily see that popular homecoming king in the head coach. But now the allure was transformed into a man comfortable with his confidence and not afraid to put it to use. Again Brandon tamped down the flicker of interest beyond professional involvement. He was determined to quash it, to not let the idea even see the light of day.

Although Jonathan had offered, Brandon had run the suicides again today. He remembered Jake’s pain from the night before and was unwilling to let the head coach do the running. Three guys instead of two outran Brandon this time, but he’d not even been a half step behind. Maybe he’d do some speed drills in the park to practice.

Jonathan pointed out how the kids were practicing sidestepping, and while Brandon recognized the effort, he could tell the balance involved wasn’t a strong skill for most of the players. It didn’t help when Jake’s voice lashed out.

“You don’t even have a glove in your hands!” Jake bellowed. “How the hell are you gonna field a ball if you can’t stay on your feet?” he questioned as he walked through the lines of boys doing the complicated drill. The first and foremost reason for it was to teach them the most effective way to turn and run by ingraining it in their muscle memory. But it also doubled as a good base running drill, and as a way to weed out the waverers who had stuck through after yesterday.

“Pick your feet up!” Troy shouted from the other side of the grid of players, the two of them double-teaming as they circled the kids like vultures. Jake glanced over at the fence where the other coaches were calling out encouragement to the kids, thinking how the staff formed a pretty decent good cop/bad cop crew. He caught sight of Brandon, standing there beside Jonathan and murmuring to each other, and he looked away quickly before he could let himself be distracted. He remembered some of the things he had told the man last night, things he shouldn’t have said to anyone probably, and he flushed a little with the memory. He made it a point of keeping his private life private for a reason. And really, this sudden interest in the man, it wasn’t a good thing.

“Well, I’m not sure I’d do so well with that my first time, either. But I’ve got pretty good balance,” Brandon said. He glanced up to see Jake look over them and then go back to the kids. “Should we be doing something?”

“Nah, wait till the drill’s over or we’ll just be in the way,” Jonathan answered with a wave of his hand. “And watch the kids. Pick out the weakest ones from the herd, that sort of thing.”

Brandon nodded slowly, adding what he was seeing to the information he’d gathered last night. On a whim, he’d jotted some thoughts last night in a small pocket-sized notebook that was now in his back pocket. “Did you play ball in school?” he asked.

“Yep, right here at Parkview. I was a freshman when Jake was a senior,” Jonathan answered with a nod as he squinted into the sun. “Every once in a while our coach would have us stop practice and watch the varsity just to learn,” he laughed. “God, what a crop of talent they were. What some of those guys could have done if they’d been given the chance,” he mused, watching Jake stalk up to a kid who had fallen and yank him bodily off the ground by his belt.

Suppressing a laugh at the look of horror on the kid’s face, Brandon shifted sideways to face the other man. “I didn’t know you went to school here. I wonder how many people come back over time.” He started trying to count. There’d been several who drifted through, especially his first few years here, many doing student teaching and then heading off to bigger, more moneyed schools in Atlanta or even out of state.

“I’d say anyone who washed out in college comes back,” Jonathan ventured with a nod at Jake.

“Next person to fall down will owe everyone a lap!” Jake shouted as he tossed the kid back into line and continued his prowling. The drill went on for another minute or so, and Jake called a halt to it just before he knew kids would start falling over and not getting back up. “Go get water!” he ordered, stalking back to the fence. Behind him, some kids literally crawled to the dugout.

Brandon was momentarily shocked by Jonathan’s comment, but then realized he was talking about sports. Jake would have had to complete his degree to teach, but not playing sports wouldn’t have stopped him. The blown-out knee was starting to make more sense. And why Jake was here and not playing professional ball somewhere. He remembered there’d been talk. He watched Jake approach, straightening a little and pulling out his pad to make a few notes, checking the numbers on a few of the players.

Jake frowned at the little pad of paper and raised an eyebrow in question as he came up to the fence and leaned against it. “That little dude is gonna be your leadoff hitter, I guarantee it,” he said to Jonathan with a nod at a freshman kid who was little more than five feet tall. “Shortstop.”

Jonathan nodded. That was one of the kids he didn’t know, who had filtered in from another middle school. But he could see what Jake saw clearly enough.

“Any observations?” Jake invited of Brandon as Troy came trotting up to them noisily.

Brandon glanced over his shorthand. “Jack will be a good runner, so will Evan,” he said of two juniors. “Jimmy’s not very fast or suited to running, but solid. First base, maybe. And Junior in the outfield, he’s got the endurance to do the distance. Not sure about the eye, though.” He looked up to see all three men staring at him. It was starting to get a little unnerving. “What?” he asked for about the millionth time.

Jake stifled laugh and shook his head. “All right, then,” he responded without answering. “Let’s break ‘em up,” he ordered as he stepped away from the fence and bellowed the order.

“Do I want to know what that was about?” the science teacher muttered as they followed the varsity coach back out onto the field.

“You never know,” Jonathan laughed with a shake of his head. The kids trudged out obediently and began to work the same drills from yesterday. Jake worked them until the sun started to go down, then called a halt to the activities and had the kids start putting up the equipment.

“You put up your own equipment until the day someone offers to pay you to play ball!” Jake was shouting as he watched. “If I see you letting someone else do the work, I’ll make work for you!”

Brandon stood near third base, watching the tired kids scurry. Hell, he was tired just looking at them. Soon the field was clear, and he walked to join the others at home base.

“Tomorrow we’ll start making lists,” Jake told the coaches as they gathered around him. Light was fading quickly now, and he glanced around the field to make certain it was clear. “By Friday we’ll have the teams set. Sound about right?” The others nodded obediently, and Jake refrained from rolling his eyes. “See you guys tomorrow,” he told them, giving one of the college kids a slap on the back that had him staggering forward as Jake turned and headed for the gate.

Jonathan waved goodbye to Brandon, who nodded an answer before starting to walk back to the gym himself. Troy whizzed off in that golf cart—where on Earth did he get that thing and why did Jake tolerate it?—and the biology teacher found himself walking through the parking lot in the dusk. It was quiet and cool, and he shivered a little.

Jake flopped down on the steps near the entrance, dragged off his cleats, slid into his trainers and stood again slowly, shouldering his heavy equipment bag as he watched the other guys head off. He watched Brandon for a moment, not even sure what he was thinking at that point. It annoyed him that he couldn’t make up his mind about the guy. He stood and stretched, his long body arching gracefully, then he turned to head for the road and the walk home.

Spur of the moment, Brandon piped up. “You good to get home, Coach?” he asked neutrally as he came to a clacking stop on the concrete with the cleats.

Jake turned around and looked back at the man. “Yeah,” he called in answer. “I plan to hijack Troy on the road and steal his golf cart,” he said seriously. “I figure even if he hits me with it, it can’t do much damage,” he snickered.

Brandon’s nose wrinkled in a smile. “Why the hell do you let him drive that insane thing?” he asked.

Jake veered off the grass and strolled back into the parking lot. “He drives it to work,” he answered with a smirk. “He lives about a mile that way,” he pointed in the opposite direction of his own house. “He’s cheap and lazy. A fearful combination when you add shameless and resourceful.”

Unable to stop the snicker, Brandon just shook his head. “That’s just incredible,” he commented, eyes dancing.

Jake gave a slight smile and nodded, looking out into the darkness of the road he would be walking. It was an interesting mix of feelings, the need to get home combined with a curious desire to keep talking with a man he had never had much to do with before. Well, there was an easy way to solve that predicament. “You know, if you don’t mind, I might take you up on the offer of a ride,” he said with another glance at Brandon. “Gets dark too early.”

“No problem,” Brandon replied easily, stopping at the door. “I just need to grab my pack and change my shoes. Be right back.” He ducked inside, shoes clacking on the hard floor.

Jake groaned quietly and flopped his big body to sit on the steps to wait. He was going to have to start actually driving to work. Just because he felt like a walk in the morning didn’t mean he would twelve hours later.

It only took Brandon a couple of minutes, and then he was back outside. “I parked back here this morning,” he pointed to the car about halfway back in the lot. “Figured it would make the evenings easier.” He offered Jake a hand up.

Jake reached up for the hand without a second thought, letting the man pull him to his feet with a slight groan. “My ass is too old for this,” he complained good-naturedly as he walked beside Brandon toward the car.

Brandon laughed. “Yesterday you said we weren’t old!” he pointed out.

“It’s just certain parts of me, that’s all,” Jake answered defensively, grinning as he hitched his equipment bag higher.

“The whole young at heart thing is clichéd, but I think it still applies,” Brandon said, digging into his pack for his car keys as they approached the Jetta. “To you, anyway.”

“Oh yeah?” Jake asked in slight amusement. “Why’s that?”

“That it applies to you?” Brandon opened the locks with the fob and tossed his pack in the back seat. “You still love it. The game. You still have passion. Even though it’s a pain in the ass sometimes, and you hurt at night, you still love it.”

Jake felt himself flushing in the darkness, and he cleared his throat as he opened the back door. “Yeah, well, yeah,” he muttered in response as he tossed his bag in and closed the door again.

Brandon smiled a bit, recognizing the other man was a little embarrassed. So he just let it drop and climbed into the car. Soon they were off, headed to Jake’s house, classic rock playing quietly on the radio from where he’d left it on that morning.

Jake wasn’t quite sure what to say on the quiet drive. He felt like he needed to say something, but he was finding that he just didn’t know enough about the other man to converse comfortably. They didn’t even really have work in common. They were both teachers, technically, but not the same kind.

He wracked his brain, trying to think up something. “So, uh, did you know Jonathan before yesterday?” he finally asked, remembering the two men being chummy on the field.

“No, I didn’t know him. I don’t think he knows I went to Parkview, either,” Brandon answered, stopping the car at the same light as the night before. “He said he knew your name, looked up to you,” he ribbed a little.

Jake blushed harder and bit his lip. “Yeah,” he agreed as he looked out the window. A lot of people had looked up to him, thinking he of all people would be going on to bigger and better things. Football and baseball scholarships, scouted by Major League and NFL teams.

But here he was instead.

Smiling, Brandon let it go, not wanting to prod Jake into annoyance rather than slight amusement. He drove across the intersection and within a minute he pulled into the driveway and shifted the car into park. “I meant to ask before practice,” Brandon said quietly, “if you were feeling better today.”

“Eh,” Jake responded automatically. “All I had to do was put one of those lifts in my shoe again and it solved the ankle thing. Thanks for asking,” he added sincerely.

“Good,” Brandon answered with a nod, and then he was out of things to say. He sat there wracking his brain, trying to come up with something, anything to say, though he had no idea why. Actually, no, he knew exactly why. He just didn’t want to admit it.

“I would offer you food and beer, but ...” Jake turned to the man and smiled slightly. “I’m not good company after 3 p.m.”

Brandon compressed his lips to hold back a snicker. When it was safe, he said, “You were fine last night,” rather evenly. He understood, though. Last night was an aberration. Brandon could be on his way now. It wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty to do. “Have a good night,” he murmured, caught looking at the other man’s shadowed face.

Jake smiled slightly and said, “I’m always fine last night ,” barely able to stop the snicker as he elbowed the man. “See you tomorrow, man. Thanks for the ride.”

Shaking his head at Jake’s banter, Brandon raised a hand to wave. “Bye,” he said quietly, reminding himself to stow these odd twitching feelings and get back to the real world. He moved to shift the car into reverse.

Jake gave a wave and stepped away from the car, then gave a little hop and banged on the roof, leaning over to open the door and stick his head back in. “Coach’s night tomorrow,” he said to the man. “We’re coming here after practice. Pizza, beer, more beer ...”

Brandon startled when Jake hit the car, but had his breath back by the time he was done talking. He had to smile, just a little. “I guess since I’m a coach, I’m invited. Should I bring anything?”

“Only if you have a certain type of beer you like or chips or something. Seriously, it’s just an excuse to drink. If you bring any Zima or shit like that, you’ll get beat up,” Jake teased with a wink.

The look on Brandon’s face was one of mute horror. “Don’t tell me Jonathan did that.”

“No. Troy did it,” Jake laughed, grinning widely at the man as he leaned over and looked through the door.

“Jesus Christ. Where did he go to school? If you were caught drinking something like that at Tech you’d have been dumped off an overpass onto I-75,” Brandon said, still cringing.

“He swears it was a joke,” Jake snickered. “I just think he’s a closet queer,” he giggled with a shake of his head as he stood back up and gave the car another slap with his hand. “See you tomorrow, man,” he said with a smile in his voice, turning to head into the house.

Stuck in place, Brandon just watched Jake walk up the stairs, intensely glad the other coach wasn’t looking at him at that moment, because he was sure all sorts of things he didn’t want seen were written all over his face. Closet queer. Fuck . Brandon ran a hand through his hair and pulled out of the driveway. He really hoped Jake had meant what he said in a somewhat affectionate, teasing manner, rather than a dirtier, more ignorant meaning.

Brandon had heard enough of that to last a lifetime.

“Morning, Mr. Bartlett,” one of the bouncy little cheerleaders greeted the next morning. “Morning, Coach,” the boy walking with her said, nodding at Brandon respectfully and smiling as they headed for their seats.

“Katie,” Brandon said distractedly, ticking her name off the list, but Jimmy’s greeting caught him off guard, and he looked up. Pushing his glasses up, he had to rally. “Ah, good morning, Jimmy.”

“Morning, Coach,” came another greeting almost immediately, followed by a smattering of other good mornings as the kids filed in. The first class of the day usually saw tired kids trudging in and flopping down with grunts. But every boy who had been at tryouts the last two days greeted Brandon that morning in a semi-cheerful manner.

Blinking, he remembered what Jake had said about the players always being in class, and looking at his grade book, he had to admit the coach was right. They all had perfect attendance. Pleasantly surprised, Brandon moved to his desk off to the side of the room to grab his teaching list for the block. “All right, break into groups of four, please, and pull some desks together for each group. We’re doing interactive exercises today.” It was one of the activities Brandon consistently received positive feedback on: Students working together on something besides book work. He personally felt they learned much more by doing rather than seeing or hearing. Musing, he got them started on a variation of Biology Pictionary and let them go, listening in on each group.

As the first class of the day got started, the speaker near the door crackled to life for the morning reports. The voice droned on with the usual announcements, the person speaking obviously aware that no one ever listened to these things. At the end, the voice read, “And Coach Campbell would like to remind the student body that the next person caught throwing wet wads of toilet paper at the ceiling of the locker rooms will be ... Wait, can I say that over the speaker? I’m not sure I can say that.” There was a clearing of a throat and a mutter that couldn’t be understood, and then the kid said, “Just don’t do it again, trust me.”

A few of the boys in the class snickered quietly, trying not to make a lot of noise but obviously familiar with whatever threat their coach had used. Brandon’s brow shot up. He could just imagine what Jake had said he would do. Shaking his head, he chuckled, tapping Cynthia on the head and pointing to the trash can for her gum without having to say a word. Too bad Troy couldn’t find other upperclassmen to keep reading announcements along those lines. It would be amusing enough to keep him going all morning.

As he walked around, Brandon noticed that one of the baseball kids was having trouble drawing, using his left hand instead of his right. He was about to say something when he saw the kid’s right hand. His fingers were taped. The teacher stopped before commenting and just watched, not wanting to interrupt. It was awkward for the boy, he could tell, but the kid got it done, and the other students guessed correctly. Brandon smiled and patted the kid’s shoulder. “Good job,” he murmured before moving on to the next group.

“Thanks, Coach,” the kid muttered automatically.

The rest of Brandon’s day went much the same. Third block, a cheerleader had to sit with her leg extended because she was wearing a knee brace. Fourth block, it was a softball player with a wrist brace. Fifth block, a lacrosse player with a black eye. The teacher couldn’t figure out how he’d missed all this before. It was all right there in front of him. It wasn’t that he’d thought badly of the kids or didn’t pay attention to them, it was just that he hadn’t noticed the injuries or the way the kids dealt with them. That embarrassed him a hell of a lot. In the nine minutes before sixth block, Brandon crammed papers and files into his pack, snagged the duffle from under his desk and headed out to the gym and the ‘beloved’ health class. He had plans for the anatomy lesson he figured the students would get a hoot out of, and since he was still trying to build rapport with them, he figured some fun would go a long way toward helping that. He got to the classroom in the gym complex just a couple of minutes before the bell.

Somewhere in the maze of hallways that connected the gymnasium to the locker rooms, offices, and classrooms, an angry bellow echoed off the tile and out through the open doors. It sounded again, clearer this time, accompanied by running footsteps. “Snakes in the grass,” an amused voice said to Brandon as he stood in the hallway. The science teacher turned to see the School Resource Officer leaning against the wall in the dark end of the corridor, his handcuffs and gun seriously out of place in the school hallway. Another shout echoed and a door slammed somewhere. “He’s been after those little shits for weeks,” the cop said with a laugh.

“What’s going on?” Brandon asked, stopping outside the classroom as students filed in past him.

“Kids loitering in the locker rooms, that sort of thing,” the SRO answered. “Hell, they’re more scared of Campbell than they are of me.” He laughed softly as he put a Pepsi can to his lips and spit tobacco into it discreetly.

Brandon had to grin. “Hell, I know I am,” he said. His smile grew when a couple of kids smashed through the double doors just past them and raced toward the breezeway leading back to the main building.

The SRO laughed hard as the kids flew by him, and a moment later the doors were pushed open and Jake came stalking out. “Little bastards,” he growled, completely unaware of the presence of anyone else until he turned around. “Next time just shoot ‘em, man, I won’t tell nobody,” he huffed to the cop. Brandon and the SRO looked at each other before dissolving into laughter. “Shut up!” Jake called grumpily as he pushed through the other pair of doors and into the large gymnasium. “ Get the hell off that rim !” he bellowed suddenly as the doors creaked closed behind him.

The two men left behind just kept laughing until the bell rang. “Welcome to the nuthouse,” the SRO said before sauntering off. Brandon went into class still grinning and grabbed up his grade book. What a hoot. Sitting on the edge of the front of the desk, he took role, still trying to match names to faces.

“Ladies and gentlemen. And Rodney, ” Brandon had to call to one kid staring out the window. The student jerked his head around while the others tittered. “Today we’re going to learn about anatomy.”

There were giggles and whistles in response to this news. The only kids in the rowdy class being quiet were the several girls who were batting their eyelashes at Brandon and the two kids who had been at baseball tryouts and knew Brandon as a coach.

“All right. Did anyone read the assigned pages? There were only five,” he reminded them. “Raise your hands if you did.”

A few hands raised, a few throats were cleared. “I looked at the pictures!” one kid offered cheekily.

Brandon waved Cheeky up to the front. “What’s your name? Larry Wallace? Okay.” He looked back at the few hands and chose one of the quiet girls. “Come on up, Melissa. The purpose of this exercise is to identify parts of the body by their proper name.”

Melissa blushed mightily as she was called to the front of the class, but she shuffled up obediently and stood there as Larry grinned at the rest of the class, drinking up being the center of attention. Brandon noted the reactions of his two ‘volunteers’. “The rule of the exercise is to touch the piece of anatomy with one finger.”

There was a ripple of giggles and Melissa blushed harder. “Are you sure, Mr. Bartlett?” she asked in a slightly squeaky voice.

Brandon squeezed her shoulder supportively. “If you break the rule, Larry ,” the teacher emphasized to get the kid’s attention, “meaning, if you cop a feel, you get to choose between two results.”

“Get slapped or keep going. Like that’s anything new,” Larry responded with a snicker.

“You either get to explain your actions to Melissa’s father or Coach Campbell,” the teacher answered.

Larry’s smile fell, and his shoulders slumped as the rest of the class snickered. Brandon continued. “Of course the same applies to Melissa. I can just see her explaining why she grabbed Mrs. Wallace’s baby boy’s butt, right? Right. So. Are you two comfortable demonstrating the exercise or shall I ask for different volunteers?”

Both kids nodded dubiously and glared at each other in mutual silent warning. Brandon barely restrained his chuckle. “Oh. And did I mention we’re keeping score?” he asked innocently.

Both kids squeaked again and another ripple of snickers went through the room.

An hour later, loud cheers echoed down the hallway, despite the closed classroom door. They would stop, then erupt. Stop, then erupt again. Then there’d be booing. Then cheers again. And then chanting: “Ry-an, Ry-an, Ry-an, Ry-an” and “Go Nelly, Go Nelly, Go Nelly, Go Nelly!”

The door jerked open suddenly, and Jake stuck his head into the room, glancing around with narrowed eyes at the kids and Brandon. The desks had all been pushed to the sides of the room, making space in the middle for the guy and girl who faced off. The other students, divided by gender, grouped on opposite sides, cheering on their ‘champions’ while Rodney kept score on the whiteboard. Brandon sat on the edge of the desk, one foot on the floor, the other swinging as he pitched out words, anatomy book in hand, glasses mostly slid down his nose.

“Okay. Girls 4, Boys 2. Ryan: Deltoid,” Brandon challenged. Nobody had heard the door open over the cheering. Ryan considered carefully, looking over the girl’s body, then reached out with one finger and prodded the front of her shoulder. The girls groaned and the guys cheered as Brandon said, “Correct,” and Rodney added a tick mark next to Ryan’s name.

Jake raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat. “Is there fun being had in here?” he asked pointedly.

Brandon looked up with a smile while some of the students called out greetings to the other coach. “Girls 4, Boys 3. Nelly: Humerus,” the science teacher said. The girl wilted, but the others cheered her on. After a moment she shrugged, stuck out one finger and touched Ryan right on the tip of the nose.

Jake raised the other eyebrow and met Brandon’s eyes briefly, seeing that he obviously had this under control. He’d have to apologize for interrupting later. “Carry on then,” he laughed softly as he pulled back out of the doorway.

Right before the announcements came on, there was much happy female shrieking and male groaning. When the bell rang, the students left, most bouncing and saying “bye” to Mr. Bartlett as they went, commenting on the “instructional” exercise. Once they were gone, he chuckled and started pushing the desks back into line.

Through the open door more shouting could be heard and laughter echoed off the tiles. “If God wanted you to hang from the rafters he’d have given you tails, you damn monkeys!” Jake shouted. The smile in his voice was obvious as more laughter met his words. P.E. teachers were likely the only ones in the school system who could cuss at a kid and not get in trouble. A moment later, Jake was standing in the open doorway and leaning against the frame with a small smile.

Having heard the now more familiar Campbell-bellow, Brandon glanced up as he shifted the desks back into place. “Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey,” Jake returned with a small smile. “Sorry about barging in earlier,” he offered. “Usually in these parts when there’s yelling it means the teacher’s been hung from the ceiling by his toes.”

“Not by his tail?” Brandon joked. “They’re good kids. I’m glad they enjoyed the game. Helps make them more at ease with me, at least.” He straightened up and stretched before shoving his glasses back up his nose. “How was your day?” he asked politely, looking at Jake curiously.

“There’s a reason we’re not allowed to torture kids anymore,” Jake groused seriously. “I gotta run, got bus duty today,” he practically growled. “See you in a bit.”

Left behind, Brandon reflected on how much he’d laughed the last three days. He just couldn’t help it, especially with Jake’s insane sense of humor. With a sigh he sat at the desk and pulled out his folders, settling in to do some—hopefully most of—his grading. He had an hour before he had to be on the field.

So fifty minutes later he was in the visitors’ locker room, stripped down and just into the white baseball pants when he started stretching. He wanted to be ready to run the suicides, and it was easier to do it here than out at the field. Jake had said they’d be narrowing the team down today. He distracted himself from the slow stretches by mentally reviewing his notes on the players.

Jake was doing his last survey of the locker rooms before classes were let out to clear them of anyone that shouldn’t be in them, and he pushed through the door with catlike silence and crept into the rooms. He peered around the first rows of lockers and into the showers and found no one, then stepped through into the other bank of lockers to find Brandon there, half dressed and stretching out his long legs slowly. Jesus .

The coach stopped short and blinked, a rush of lust assaulting him before he could stamp it down. He swallowed heavily and watched for a moment longer before retreating quietly, licking his lips nervously as he pressed against the cinderblock wall near the sinks. Wow. He knew he should creep back out of the rooms before Brandon sensed someone around, but he couldn’t seem to force himself to move. He couldn’t remember ever being hit that hard by the desire to pounce on someone before. Just like that, right out of the blue. Was that what that niggling feeling had been the last few days? Unrealized lust? Christ.

Sighing quietly, Brandon slowly bent over at the waist, grasping the backs of his thighs, eyes closed. After holding the position he straightened and stretched both arms up into the air, groaning when his neck popped. He yawned involuntarily and grunted, shaking his head to try to ward off the doze as he held the stretch.

Jake shook his head and told himself to move. Walking in on the man innocently was one thing, but standing there and listening while he considered the shape of his ass was bordering on territory that would have him feeling dirty. Yeah, he definitely felt dirty. He crept out into the other side of the room, flushing hotly even though he was the only person who would ever know what he was thinking. He pushed at the locker room door. “Bed check!” he shouted, his usual bellow somewhat ineffective as it came out slightly croaked.

Brandon’s eyes flew open, and he turned in place, then moved to stick his head around the corner of the lockers. “Bed check?” he echoed. “Are we in the Army now, Sergeant?” He tilted his head, noticing that Jake looked out of sorts.

“Any kids in here?” Jake asked the man without responding to the tease, already knowing the answer. His voice was tight and clipped. The last thing he needed was an attraction to another teacher. Another teacher who knew him from before he’d grown up. Not to mention that he really didn’t want to be outed at any point because he was ogling the man, thank you very much. So he overcompensated, his black eyes hard and his body tense.

Feeling an unexplained wave of coldness, Brandon shook his head and dropped the attitude. “No,” he said shortly before leaving Jake’s view to finish getting dressed. He just didn’t know how to deal with Jake. He yelled at the kids, but took care of them. He could be friendly, and he could be cold. He could explain or he could browbeat. He could do a hell of a lot, Brandon admitted silently. “Just not predictably,” he muttered under his breath as he pulled the Under Armour over his head.

“What?” Jake called as he turned and headed for the door. He felt almost physically ill, and he was desperately trying to think of some sort of joke to break the tense mood he’d created. But he could think of nothing. Goddamn it !

“I’ll see you out on the field,” Brandon called out, feeling really off-balance. He had to figure out a way to relate to Jake or he just might lose his mind. Or worse. He dropped his head into his hands, trying to shake the odd warm flush that filled him every time he saw the man. He just couldn’t afford this kind of reaction right now.

“Yeah,” Jake agreed woodenly, making his escape as quickly as possible. He needed some ice water or something. He needed to deal with this and fast.